


(i can't) surrender

by My_Bated_Breath



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crystal Catacombs, F/M, Interconnected Drabbles, Katara does chores, Pining Zuko (Avatar), Stubborn Katara (Avatar), Western Air Temple AU, Zuko wants to help her do chores, Zutara Week 2020, a dash of prose, day 5: hesitancy, mostly about chores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Bated_Breath/pseuds/My_Bated_Breath
Summary: In the Western Air Temple, both Katara and Zuko lie to themselves.Written for Zutara Week 2020, Day 5: Hesitancy
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 192





	1. (i can't) surrender

Over the course of several months (but what in reality felt like several years), Katara had adapted from watching over one child to caring for three. It was a change that wore on her, whittling away at her time and her freedom until every moment became a routine, but she knew that it was a part only she could play. She knew her role in the group.

That was, until Zuko arrived.

He became an unwelcome presence in all the places that had once been hers and hers alone. Every time she turned a corner, expecting to return to the standard procedure and status quo, he was already there, stirring porridge in a pot, stuffing blankets back into their covers, rinsing off laundry in the river.

Katara was the caretaker. Not him.

As such, it’s a small victory when she arrived at their group’s gathering room and saw that it was still dirty and unswept.

Katara knew a rare opportunity when she saw one, and she was not one to stay idle when there was a chance to take action. Broom in hand, she set herself to work.

She swept. For a small but still blessed stretch of time, all there was to life was the wooden handle in her hand and the repetitive movements of dragging a broom across the floor, up there and back, up there and back. She could forget the shadow that hung over her when she had nothing to busy her hands; she could forget that her friends and family were in constant danger even when they were well cared for and well-fed.

Of course, he had to come and ruin the one comfort she had left.

“Can I take over now?”

Her shoulders hunched reflexively as she tightened her hold on the broomstick. “No,” she said shortly. “Aren’t you supposed to be darning Sokka’s socks right now?”

Zuko fidgeted. “I don’t know how to darn socks.” She glared. “Um, but I can learn how, if that’s what you want?”

Katara crossed her arms. “That’s not what I want.”

“What do you want then?” The question would have been scathing if his tone wasn’t so sincere. Still, no matter how genuine he appeared, Katara was not willing to give in.

“What I want is to handle all the chores by myself without anyone’s help — and that includes help from a traitor.” Wrenching her broom, Katara renewed her sweeping with newfound intensity.

“I’m happy like this. I was happy like this. Because this was, is, and always will be my place. Sokka, Toph, and Aang — they need someone to look after them when they forget to do it themselves. Tui and La, they can’t do it themselves, they’re all so young! So I do it for them. I have my place in this group, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to take that away from me.”

Zuko was a thief in the worst possible way. For the past two weeks, he stole the roles she used to hold before playing them himself, selflessly, selfishly. Some might have seen it as easing a burden. All she could see was an ignorant plea for forgiveness.

Bitterness overcame her in a wave. Quietly, she asked, “Do you know what it feels like, when you came along, all desperate and stupid and wanting to help?”

_ I sacrificed all that I could have been for them. And now you want to take that away from me too? _

_ I can’t trust you again. I can’t trust you. _

And it hurt. It hurt that she couldn’t, because she was so tired and worn and shattered from this pressure that was twisting her inside out, and it took all she could to keep up the facade, to keep pretending she was okay.

_ Am I going to be alone forever? _

The thought was too much to bear. Katara shoved the broom outward. Pulled it forward. Simmering, icing, boiling, solidifying, all in one movement.

It was too much emotion. Too much force.

The wooden handle knocked into her neck and snagged the clasp of her necklace, dragging the metal up her neck, digging into her skin. There was a brief burst of pain, a noise that she bit down on. “Spirits,” she hissed, water pooling in her eyes.

Zuko was upon her in a heartbeat. Without any of his usual hesitation, he reached out, fingers burning where he massaged the juncture of her throat. His eyes were wide and fierce, but there was a feverish clarity in there too, like sun-touched flames melting away all his masks, the masks that had been carefully constructed by restraint and control.

“Katara,” his breath was hot as he leaned closer to her neck. “Just let me take care of y-” He halted abruptly, jaw clamping down. “-it. Let me take care of it, for once.”

His voice — rough and soft, angry and regretful — was pleading. Like he meant every word, like he wasn’t trying to take from her, like he wanted to soothe her worry. His eyes (it was always his eyes) were fixed on hers, and that was when Katara realized that every other time he gave her that look he was guarded because now — now, his gaze was alight with something so visceral it was haunting.

And Katara had a duty to her friends (her children) — she surrendered herself to their happiness every day — and she knew that more than anyone else. But just once, she let herself wonder. What would it be like to fall, knowing someone else will catch her?

She was silent for a few heartbeats before she nodded.

Zuko stared. Nodded back.

Hands trembling, he fixed the blue ribbon, a whisper of silk brushing over her skin as it slid down back into place. The smoothness of the fabric was a cold tide washing over her, but his fingers on the other side promised a soft heat, one spreading under her blood and down to the marrow of her bones. It was tortuous, the way she was winded up and held tautly, holding her breath for a release she didn’t even know, for an expectation that was more instinct than thought. Maybe it was because he moved so slowly, so methodically — but why did the motions have to feel so tender, so comforting?

She exhaled shakily, and the air she breathed out tickled some of the black strands over his forehead. Molten gold snapped to her, landing on the mouth that disturbed his hair.

Even unguarded, Katara still didn’t know how to read that look in Zuko’s eyes — he was usually an open book; his apprehension, confusion, annoyance (and fondness, for the adopted members of her family that he was taking away from her, one by one) was plain to see. But as the dust she violently disturbed began settling back to the floor, she could almost see something — tortured beauty, delicate suffering, embers that would not cool even as they burned their way through snow — written in the lines of his locked jaw, etched into the arch of his brow.

He inhaled, deep yet just as shaky and unsure as she was. His eyelids fluttered shut; the lashes on his good eye were a shadow cast against his cheek. The last speck of dust landed on the ground.

They breathed in the air. They breathed in each other.

Katara shivered. The space in front of her was expanding, stretching thin with all that was unknown. And as the night chill of the Western Air Temple descended down on her and goosebumps rose on her skin, she realized the gold consuming her vision was no longer Zuko’s eyes but the setting sun, light streaking across stone in little slivers past the pillars' shadows.

He was gone — no, he was here but further. A long distance apart from her, Zuko stood, shoulders hung in defeat.

“Don’t take too long,” he said, voice barely audible above the humming cicadas. “You need — You should take care.”

The light shifted to a deeper shade. On his back, his faded tunic was restored to the color of royal regalia so that for a fleeting moment all she saw was the Fire Nation prince, tall and untouchable. She blinked, and Zuko stepped into the darkness of an adjoining hall, the illusion broken.

Instinctively reaching out to touch her necklace, Katara clung onto its familiarity with a desperation she couldn't understand. And how could she? She was alone again, just like she wished to be.

Yet she felt so hollow.

Alone in the too-spacious, too-empty room, Katara wondered why Zuko’s defeat did not mean the same thing as her victory.


	2. (i can't) look back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They refuse to regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since (i can't) surrender seems to be my most popular work at the moment, I decided to post a few more drabbles from the (i can't) surrender universe that I thought were worth sharing. That being said, please enjoy chapter 2, (i can't) look back, which takes place after the Crystal Catacombs (prior to the events of chapter 1).

What transpired moments ago felt like a lifetime away.

Wind whipped through the air, brisk and merciless, no one uttering a single word as they watched Ba Sing Se fall. It fell onto her shoulders, a grave she could not shake, the stifling air too heavy compared to the feather-light weight of Aang’s body cradled in her lap. She kept her head lowered over his damaged figure, straining her ears to hear it: each shuddering breath, sluggish and rasping. Tears flowed freely down her face and she did nothing to stop them, nothing to stop the flashes of lightning and falling and  _ dying  _ racing in a blur across her mind.

Katara was a fool.

She should’ve heeded his warning when he told her not to come any closer.

* * *

At midnight, the mountains appeared beyond the horizon.

Shrouded in silver mist, their silhouettes stretched skyward as if to gather stars. But there were no stars in the sky tonight. Under the cover of dark, a royal vessel, flanked by several lesser ships, voyaged to the island nation on the endless waters. Only an ocean separated a restored prince from his rightful throne.

Zuko took comfort in the waves lapping against the metal sheets of the ship and the moonlight splashing the ocean in silver, even while he found no joy in the irony of it. The sweet trust and hope offered to him hours ago had long fled from his senses but green crystals still crashed into him like streamed water, and that was when he knew there was no going back to the life he had before her.

_ What if you were truly free? _

He had his pride.

_ I am free. _

Three years was a long time to call a memory “home.”

* * *

_ Your prince has returned. _

* * *

In the palace, Zuko feared Azula.

When they were young, Azula’s laughter came as free as her words, not yet bound with poison while they giggled over pranks on unsuspecting servants, not yet weaved with calculation while they let their mother fix their hair.

Every time he remembered golden beaches, he missed his sister.

* * *

In the prison, Zuko beseeched Iroh.

When his uncle turned away from him, refusing to speak a single word, a treasonous part of Zuko longed for the man who taught him to redirect lightning — but then refused to strike him with it.

Every moment he bent fire, he wondered when bending transformed from a weapon to an art.

* * *

In the garden, Zuko kissed Mai.

When he met her lips, plush and perfect like a noblewoman’s ought to be, he told himself it didn’t taste like nothing.

Every night, the sound of sobbing and breaking crystal haunted his dreams, whispering of how he lied.

* * *

In the temple, Zuko honored Ursa.

When the incense drifted up to the skies, light as feathers yet sticky as honey, Zuko wished he was an airbender who could fly after its trail, chasing the smoke back to who he once was, to who he lost when everything changed.

Every prayer he cast to the heavens, he asked for the meaning of those last words.

* * *

In the Fire Lord’s bunker, Zuko rejected Ozai.

When he met the Fire Lord’s anger, receiving his cold-blooded fire, he did not hesitate.

Every heartbeat, every breath, every gift of living, he owed only to his mother and her grandfather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr @my-bated-breath if you'd like to talk :)


	3. (i can't) know why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For her, knowledge is a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell already, the (i can't) surrender verse is comprised of a series of loosely-interconnected drabbles. Still, from here on out, every drabble *should* be in chronological order! So I present to you (i can't) know why, which takes place during and after the episode "The Western Air Temple" but before the events of chapter 1 in this universe.

Zuko rejected Katara.

Still, he was the one who came back crawling.

Not literally, of course. But a well-aimed blast of water had him falling onto his knees, and that was close enough for her. His hair was soaked, covering his eyes as he turned, resigned, from the ancient temple grounds to the mountain and woods beyond.

She relished in it. In regaining her footing and finding the upper ground. She was standing before him again, but this time she had the foresight to not be the one offering him a hand to help him back up.

_You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang, and you won't have to worry about your destiny anymore._

This was not a second chance.

This was a last resort.

* * *

To say the least, their dynamic was quite strained.

At first, they were content with watching each other, bodies tensed as they were prepared to leap into a fight at any second. But they didn’t fight. Instead, they tiptoed along unseen boundaries, drew lines at the perceived breaking points. No one wanted to make the first move. So they watched.

Zuko sat far away from them whenever they gathered for meals or plans, heeding the invisible barrier that separated them, keeping his distance as a figure in peripheral view. But his eyes easily crossed the dividing lines.

They followed her as she smiled at her friends having fun and telling jokes by the campfire. They trailed behind her as she disappeared into the makeshift kitchen with dirty bowls and plates in her hands. They tracked her cooking with the fire he lit for them. But they always broke away when gold met blue.

She studied him too, keeping tabs on his whereabouts and actions whenever time allowed. Fortunately ( _or unfortunately_ , the vengeful part of her hissed), there was not much to report. Maybe she was a bad investigator. Maybe he was good at hiding. Either way, she wasn’t willing to take any chances, and given how the rest of her friends treated him with similar reluctance and skepticism, she wasn’t alone.

That was, until he took Aang to the firebending masters.

And the floodgates opened.

And one by one, he converted the group.

Of course, Toph had deemed him worthy as soon as he agreed to carry her piggyback-style everywhere, which he took into stride with surprising ease. Sokka was convinced after he learned that no matter how many tap-dancing jokes he made about the dancing dragon, Zuko would take them with little more than a grumble. The other children, stranded from the day of the eclipse, were pretty much swayed when he started lighting their campfires for them.

And Aang (who still needed her protection, who she couldn’t let out of sight ever again) — Aang would not stop gushing about how amazing his new sifu was, how he was teaching him a completely new perspective on fire, how _Zuko and I are a really good team, actually_.

So everyone started relaxing around Zuko.

That left Katara to be the responsible one, as exhausting as constant suspicion was. Even so, her deep distrust in Zuko aside, she couldn’t help but feel something strange was going on for the past few days. It left an ache settling in her chest, an emptiness expanding in her limbs. She was always twitchy, always on edge with needing something to do — washing the dishes, doing laundry, preparing meals — but it wasn’t enough. Her eyes traced patterns in the wall and retraced them, nearly certain that she was forgetting something in between the gaps, something in the cracks.

No, she _was_ certain she was overlooking something, or rather, someone. After she threatened him in his room, rage running through her veins and poison coating her tongue, after he stared at her with wide-eyed and slack-jawed shock, she, at the very least, expected avoidance from him. She expected excuses to leave the room when she entered, moves to turn around just when they might cross in the halls. But that was an avoidance that could be seen and accounted for — what was Katara supposed to do when Zuko had all but become invisible?

Zuko was a ghost outside of shared bending practices and mealtimes. And sometimes, some moments, his absence was its own glaring presence.

Katara was unsettled. All these _moments_ , or whatever they were, were culminating into something big. Immense. Catastrophic. She knew that much.

What she did not know was that _something_ was about to happen when she was washing the dishes.

* * *

Three crumb-dusted plates were lying on the ground, right by the long-gone campfire they struck up last night. Katara wasn’t surprised, considering who her traveling companions were, but then she was surprised because she wasn’t appalled. To be honest, she was a little relieved — at least some things never changed in their little (yet bigger) group.

After bending down to pick up the discarded plates, she crossed a few halls to find their designated kitchen. It was a closed room with stone counters lining the walls and a small fountain tucked next by the opening in the aqueduct system. Sometimes she wondered what the room used to be used for, but she supposed it didn’t matter as long as it made for a decent kitchen.

Reaching the kitchen entrance, Katara clumsily pushed the door open with the weight of her back, only to be met by the unthinkable: Zuko, sitting by the fountain, arms-deep in water, holding a rag to clean off a teacup. And just as he always did, he knew she was there as soon as the door opened.

The teacup clattered to the ground.

They stared. At the teacup. At each other.

“You just — you just broke it!” Katara shouted, gesturing at the broken pieces of the once intact teacup scattered across the floor.

“Katara!” Zuko’s face betrayed his absolute panic, and he was unable to decide whether he should be looking at the mess on the floor or her seething by the door. I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

“Didn’t mean to?” Her voice raised by several octaves. “You shouldn’t even be here! Are you here to poison us?”

 _Zuko wouldn’t do that_ , her mind helpfully supplied. _He’s not exactly the subtle type._

Zuko was aghast. “What? I’m not poisoning anyone. I’m just washing the dishes! You know, like I’ve been doing every day since last week?”

“Since last week?” Head spinning, Katara leaned against the wooden counter by the kitchen entrance. Zuko startled at the movement, his gaze skittering away.

“I’ve been helping out with the chores,” he admitted to the dishrag in his hand. “Dishes, laundry, cleaning — uh, once I even cut some mangos for everyone as a snack…”

“No…” The emptiness. The twitchiness. The edge. Clear as day, the pieces began falling into place. All this time she felt as though she needed something to do, when in reality-

Zuko shifted. “No…?”

“I mean fine! If you want to help out so much, if you want to do everything I used to do, then you can do that.”

Fuming, Katara took a step forward, hoping to intimidate him. Zuko’s eyes widened, no doubt remembering their last encounter. Inwardly, she smirked.

With a magnanimous sweep of her arms, Katara cast a meaningful look at the shattered teacup. Zuko continued to regard her with extreme caution.

For a second, she allowed herself to revel at the moment, in the apprehension practically radiating from the boy across from her.

Then Katara smiled. Decided to be nice.

“You’re washing all the dishes for the next week,” she said, mockingly saccharine, as she flounced out the door.

Further down the hall, she added: “And you’re cleaning up the mess!”

* * *

She immediately regretted it.

“So… Haru…” Katara trailed off, feigning interest as she leaned forward on her makeshift rock-chair. “What do you like to do for fun?”

She tuned him out as he began expounding upon the delights of rock sculpting with way too much enthusiasm. “I didn’t think I’d like it at first either, but the precision needed for each sculpture is simply enthralling…”

Katara nodded along, trying to look thoroughly engaged. Why was she here again?

“...I started because I didn’t have much to do…”

Ah, right. That was why.

Picking up a branch from the ground, she started drawing haphazard shapes on the stone floor. After a few forceful strokes with the wooden stick, she admired the mini-Appa scratched out underneath her. Then she grimaced.

Spirits, she was pathetic. She was the one to seek out Haru to begin with, and now she couldn’t even muster the will to listen to him. It was all just so depressing, not knowing what to do with herself-

“So, what about you?”

Katara startled to attention. “Uh, what? Sorry, can you repeat that?”

For several seconds, she squirmed under Haru’s scrutiny. Then he shrugged. “I asked what you like to do for fun, Katara.”

“Oh, of course!” Katara replied cheerfully. “Um…”

She wracked her brain, but her recent memories were filled with watching over Toph, Aang, and Sokka more than they were by anything else that might be classified as fun. She bowed down her head, face tensed in concentration.

Empty. Completely empty.

“Nothing.” She answered honestly (and stupidly). A spare memory flashed in her mind of an ornamented cave bathed in candlelight. “But I kinda tried dancing, once…?”

Haru didn’t seem too impressed.

* * *

That experience taught Katara that she no longer knew how to have fun. So she gave up, returning to her life from before.

* * *

Once she knew where to look, she found him everywhere.

There he was, tending to the fire, stirring porridge in a pot, stuffing blankets back into their covers, rinsing off laundry in the river. He was unwelcome to these places that once were hers, both she and he knew that. 

Nevertheless, they were content with watching each other, bodies tensed as they were prepared to leap into a fight at any second. But they didn’t fight. Instead, they tiptoed along unseen boundaries, drew lines at the perceived breaking points. No one wanted to make the first move. So they watched. So they moved.

They skirted around the edges; they balanced on the lines. And maybe once, mere weeks ago, a lifetime ago, she thought dancing was twirls and leaps and kicks and spins, that it was falling back into a boy’s arms and staring into his large gray eyes.

_I tried dancing, once._

She still danced in her dreams. Sometimes, the days blended together into something reminiscent of a dream as she stepped through halls so empty they were haunted, living and breathing in the remnants of an irretrievable past. And in there she swayed to a slow rhythm, gentle and fragile, pushing and pulling with her partner who was calling to her from the other end.

But she could no longer dance with a boy that she practically raised on her own, not anymore, not even in the escape that was her imagination. And she wondered — she feared — what would happen if she simply let the hostilities melt away, if she let her nighttime visions be warmed by sunlight, if she opened her eyes and woke into consciousness-

If Katara accepted that she was dancing with Zuko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are interested in seeing more drabbles from this universe, you can stay tuned by subscribing and/or bookmarking :) In the meanwhile, my other works -- selfish, a post-TSR conversation between Zuko and Katara that delves into the concept of love and revenge, as well as Unveil Me, a multi-chapter Zutara/Painted Blue/Blutara/Paintedko love square AU with *politics* -- should be more than enough to tide you over. Additionally, check out my tumblr @my-bated-breath for my Rebirth drabble and (wow, it's actually published now) meta-analysis on ATLA.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! And if you want to show your appreciation, I'm always welcome to kudos and comments (and screaming in my Tumblr inbox @my-bated-breath because hey, that's an option too!)


	4. (i can't) hear you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water can show more than one reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter take place after chapter 1.
> 
> (I'm sorry I have to clarify this before every chapter in the first place.)

“What are you doing?”

Zuko ignored Katara in favor of adding another stitch to Aang’s torn trousers. When he finished, he held up the fabric, surveying it before deeming it worthy and folding it into a neat square. Only after he added it to a pile of other folded clothing (why did he have _more_ clothes?) did he reply.

“Mending,” Zuko stated in a rather lackluster manner.

“I can see that.” Katara rolled her eyes. “But why are you doing it?”

A smile pulled at his lips before he scowled and turned away. “Because Toph thought today’s earthbending practice should focus on sharper rocks. Aang wasn’t spared.” He was annoyed — that much she could hear — but there was an undertone to his voice that was strikingly familiar.

Perplexed, Katara examined Zuko as he wrapped the unused thread around a spool. The tone was fondness.

“Why are you…?”

Zuko chanced a glance at her. “Why am I…?” He looked back down at his hands, at the spool of thread. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “I took your thread, didn’t I? I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but uh, I guess it was. My mistake, sorry-”

“I don’t care about the thread,” Katara cut him off, for once not annoyed by his ingenuine (yet so genuine sounding) apologies. “I want to know why you’re mending Aang’s clothes.”

“Um, because he ripped it?”

“No,” Katara shook her head. “Why are _you_ doing it?”

He cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “Well, there’s not a rule against it, is there? Why shouldn’t I be doing it?”

“Because-” She shut her mouth, having no real answer to his question. So what if he finished mending all the clothing? There was still so much to do, so much to oversee, so much to care for-

Katara huffed, spinning on her heel. Zuko gave her a questioning look.

“Forget it, I need to go do the laundry.”

* * *

Only as the days kept passing, the longer it took for Katara to collect enough dirty clothing to warrant a trip to the courtyard fountain. Given that he already took to washing the dishes and mending the clothes, she supposed it was only natural that he moved onto laundry as well.

Except it wasn’t that simple.

“How can I wash clothes I can’t even see?” Toph complained, loud enough for Katara to overhear as she approached the courtyard. The shorter girl was sitting on the edge of the fountain, her back craned at an uncomfortable angle to face the water.

“You’ll have to figure it out,” Zuko said bluntly next to her.

“Well, I don’t want to figure it out anymore. Farewell, Sparky.”

Toph made a move to get up, but Zuko stopped her. “Wasn’t this something you wanted to learn?”

She made a tiny noise. “No. I mean, it sounded like a good idea at the time. But no.”

Once, a visit to the fountain sounded like a good idea too, but Katara had no desire to chase Zuko out of the courtyard as she was bound to do anytime they came into close contact. Sighing, she shifted the pile of clothing in her arms, resigned to wash them on some other day.

Katara turned around—

“It’s still a good idea — an _essential_ idea. Like, if you’re going to run away from your parents one day, laundry is a pretty necessary part of life. Unless you’re bringing a servant with you?”

—and ducked behind a pillar, cursing herself even as she peeked out from its shadow. She should leave, that was inarguable. She should leave immediately.

Or should she?

Unexpected variables yield unexpected results, and with Toph showing vulnerability and Zuko showing compassion, the outcome was too unclear to be riskless. She had a responsibility to stay, Katara told herself.

So she did.

“...I hate servants,” Toph gave in. “But I don’t see how you, Prince Fancypants of all people, can teach me how to do laundry.”

“Prince Fancypants?” He asked incredulously. “First of all, at one point I was a penniless refugee, so don’t call me that. Second of all, do you honestly think Aang or Sokka can teach you?”

“No,” Toph begrudgingly admitted. A charged silence followed where _but Katara can_ went unsaid. Katara felt a pang in her chest.

“Okay,” Zuko coughed. “How about we start with you facing the water?”

When Toph didn’t budge, his voice softened. “Look, you’re not going to fall into the fountain or anything. It’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that? I can’t use earthbending if both my feet _and_ my hands are submerged! I can trip! You can push me!”

“I’m not going to push you,” Zuko promised. He pondered over something before speaking again. “Actually — what if you roll up your pants? Then you can sit with your legs and feet touching the fountain. It’s made out of stone, so it’s better than nothing.”

Toph considered this for a few seconds. Then, she lowered herself to roll up her trousers. It was a surprisingly tender moment, one in which Katara was certain that Zuko would be smiling in. Katara knew she would smile too if she was the one helping Toph.

There was the plunk of legs entering water and the bubbling of fabric being plunged underneath the surface. A few murmurs were scattered here and there — a “just bring it together with your hands and scrub” followed by an “Agni, don’t scrub _that_ hard” — but it was mostly quiet save for gentle splashing.

“This,” Toph finally said, “isn’t so bad.”

“Yeah. Not so bad.” She could hear the affection in Zuko’s voice and was startled by how familiar it was, how similar it was to how she spoke to Toph. Or, how she used to speak to Toph before the war stole away their time together.

“There’s just one thing I don’t get,” Toph stopped in her scrubbing. “Why go through so much trouble to help me? To help us?” Before Zuko could deny anything, Toph held up a hand and went on.

“I know this isn’t some one-time thing. You spend all this time doing chores and now you’re teaching me how to do laundry. Not that I don’t appreciate it… but why?”

Unconsciously, Katara tensed. Without knowing it, she had been anticipating the answer to this question too. She wanted to know why the past days lost their normalcy, wanted to know why he completely messed up her routine. If Zuko explained his reasons, then maybe there was a chance she could connect his motive to his tactics and counter them. Then maybe everything could go back to the way it was before.

“I wanted to be useful,” he said, evasive.

“Nope. You’re a useful firebender. Try again.”

A breeze brushed by, filling in the space between words and the distance between her pillar and their fountain. The splashes quieted as though the slightest sound could drown out Zuko’s thoughts.

“I don’t know.” It would be another deflection if only he didn’t sound so exposed saying it. “I… wanted more than to be accepted by your group. I wanted to be part of it too. To help take care of you-” he lightly nudged Toph. “-Aang, and Sokka… and Katara.”

The hesitancy in how he said her name stirred inside her something uncertain, something she didn’t know how to interpret at all. Katara wondered-

A splatter of water followed by an indignant yelp shook her out of her thoughts.

“What was that for?” Zuko demanded.

“It’s how I express my friendship,” Toph stated, simple and straightforward. “Because we’re all friends with you. Well, maybe Sugar Queen can still use some convincing,” she said rather pointedly.

Suddenly, Katara was reminded that Toph had probably sensed her coming a long time ago even if she couldn’t use earthbending to see her now. Tamping down on her embarrassment, she crept away, determined both to be as silent as possible and to never think about this incident again. Although Toph and Zuko’s interactions left her more confused and, consequently, more frustrated over her confusion, she had long outstayed her welcome.

“...you’re part of the family now,” was the last thing she heard before she slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! The "final" chapter of to this drabble collection will be posted next week, if all goes well (though there's a bit more I want to expand on if my schedule and workload allows).
> 
> As for any author ever, comments and kudos are much appreciated :) Also you can find me on Tumblr @my-bated-breath should the desire ever strike you so.


	5. (i can't) let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't let go of memories; she can't let go of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows directly after the events of chapter 4.

Given how immature she acted most of the time, Katara almost forgot how wise Toph could be. Perhaps that’s why it took her so long to realize she was right.

Katara would see what she wanted to see — Zuko lecturing Aang about the discipline necessary for mastering fire, then Zuko presiding over Toph and Aang’s earthbending practices with a teacher’s eye. She would see Zuko and Aang bowing to each other, master to student, then Zuko and Toph discussing how to draw out the aggressiveness required for firebending and earthbending from Aang.

But afterward, she’d miss Zuko praising Aang for bending tiny dragons of fire in the air; she’d miss Zuko chiding Toph for bullying Aang in his earthbending practices. So these hints of endearment escaped from her notice, too small and quiet for her eyes and ears to grasp.

Still, some things, secret as they may seem, can only be concealed for so long. The halls of the Western Air Temple were too empty to hide fullness where it existed, and so they could not stifle the loud peal of laughter and the even louder “shh” that rang down the corridor she was passing through one day.

Upon hearing the disruption, Katara halted. Then, she considered, weighing the haste to her stride against the pauses elicited by her curiosity, and reached a decision. Yes, she may have had a destination in mind, but who was to say she couldn’t take a detour?

So with padded steps, she followed the sound.

Closer, she caught onto the end of a sentence and a certain firebender’s most loathed nickname. “...tell me more, Sifu Hotman!”

The response was deadpan. “Does listening to a propagandized folktale meant to glorify Sozin truly captivate you so?”

“Not at all!” A higher voice pitched in. “But hearing you try to tell a story and mess up at every turn does.”

Katara froze, mind reeling. What were Toph and Aang doing with Zuko? She replayed every snippet of the conversation she heard, checking and rechecking because _what were they doing listening to Fire Nation propaganda?_

Unaware of Katara’s shock and alarm, Toph carried on. “Say, if this is supposed to be real Fire Nation propaganda then shouldn’t you know it by heart?”

“No,” Zuko said curtly. “There were too many stories and they were all too long. I’m so sorry I couldn’t remember enough details in this one folktale to properly entertain you.”

Oblivious to Zuko’s sarcasm, Aang chimed in. “Well, can you remember any of them?”

They waited for his answer. Katara imagined Zuko leaning back, eyes searching upward for inspiration, or him hunching forward, staring at the ground in remembrance.

“No. Or, no — I meant maybe. I haven’t exactly tried-”

Toph snickered. “Even if he did he’d still be the worst narrator ever,” she said, presumably to Aang.

“Hey! I never asked to be your personal bedtime story reader!”

“It’s so cute how you think you have a choice in all this-”

“Is it true?” Aang asked abruptly, cutting Toph short before she and Zuko could descend into bickering again. His voice was hushed as he clarified, “is it true that even your bedtime stories are all Fire Nation propaganda?”

A beat. Then, Toph spoke.

“What did you expect, Twinkle Toes? This is the Fire Nation we’re talking about.”

She was nonchalant, but the teasing edge to her voice was gone. As if reciting a script, she added, “You succeed by seizing every opportunity you have. That’s how you do business. War isn’t that different.”

“Aang-” Zuko began.

“It’s okay,” Aang said. “You don’t have to keep telling me the Fire Nation is bad. I know it — really, I do! It’s just that-”

He sighed, long and heavy. “I just can’t help but remember what it was like in the Fire Nation one hundred years ago.” His tone twisted into a wistful note, slipping back into the bittersweet nostalgia which haunted his every movement. Sometimes, it was much too easy to forget that this boy was a relic from a time long gone, a time erased from history.

“You know Kuzon, my Fire Nation friend? He was amazing at telling stories — he would begin by retelling one his parents passed onto him, only he’d keep adding these details no one else could have ever imagined.” Aang’s words were so bright that Katara wasn’t quite sure if he was remembering his childhood or a fantasy. “One day, I asked Kuzon how his ideas were always so new and interesting. He told me it’s because he drew his inspiration from all four nations.”

The Western Air Temple was always quiet, but as Aang’s memories wrapped around them with the hollow touch of a ghost, the silence never felt more deafening.

“Oh,” Zuko said. “That’s- that’s really good of Kuzon to do that.”

“Yeah. I know.”

And that should have been the end, just as peace came to an end when war began, just as one hundred years have passed and been forgotten. Except no one spoke — not Aang, with his impossible optimism and endless resilience. Not Toph, with her and mood-lightening jabs and heartfelt insight.

No one spoke, until Zuko did.

“My mother used to sing me lullabies before I fell asleep,” he recalled. “In some of the songs she sang, the lyrics came from ancient myths dating back from before the war.”

The memory sprung up before she could suppress it — _that’s something we have in common_ — compelling her steps to pause, even while Toph’s urging did not.

“So, what are you stalling for? Tell us all about this ancient, magical, mystical fairytale you’ve got.”

“Wait,” Zuko said, startled. “I was only stating. I didn’t say that to begin a new story.”

“Hm,” Toph said. “You’re still stalling.”

“What? I just said-”

Aang interrupted. “Um, Zuko?” he asked a tinge sheepishly. “I’d like to hear it too.”

“Oh,” Zuko said for the second time. Even without seeing him, Katara could tell his resolve was crumbling. “Aang, I-

Zuko sighed. “Fine. If you want to hear about it, I… I can tell you the Tale of the Princess Kaguya.” Softly, so much that it was little more than a murmur, he added, “That one was my mother’s favorite.”

“So I guess I’ll begin now?” He cleared his throat. “Well, once, in a grove deep within an untouched forest, a bamboo cutter happened across a glowing stalk…”

Katara wasn’t sure what she expected. In the past, the Zuko who chased them around the world was thunderous and enraged, constantly shouting and demanding and commanding. In the present, he was quiet and reserved, sometimes even shy with his awkward phrases and clumsy jokes. But soon, after he stumbled through the beginning, Katara was seeing a new side to him, the abruptness in his speech gave way to the smoothness of a tide, the monotony in his tone wavering and breaking until he was speaking with full animation. His storytelling had a natural rhythm underlying it, one that translated words to pictures to plays until Katara was whisked away to another world entirely.

Now, she peers inside the cut bamboo stalk to find a baby the size of a thumb, precious and delicate and divine, asleep inside the hollow stem. From a distance, she follows the bamboo cutter as he carries the baby in the palm of his hand, taking her home before taking her in as his own. She stands in the background when the bamboo cutter and his wife name her Kaguya, watching them raise her as she grows into a normal-sized girl and seeing them love her as she grows into an exceptionally beautiful woman. Alongside everyone else in the village, she startles when the royal procession arrives and the emperor greets Kaguya at the foot of her doorstep, but she is not surprised at all when the two of them fall in love.

“But at night, while the emperor gazes at his beloved’s face, Kaguya gazes at the moon…”

And the rest of the story is lost to a breaking wave and an ocean of memory — Katara is falling, shadows eclipsing her vision as time reverses, turning and turning until it is ten years ago on the eve of the winter solstice. By sparking embers and flickering flame, she awakes in a world where she is four-years-old and cradled by her warmest furs and her father’s embrace. Surrounding her are foreign faces, familiar faces, whose lips spill open with the songs and tales of a village with men who have yet to become warriors and women who have yet to become widows, wrapping her in bundles of hope in a time of hopelessness.

(Katara knew the stories as if they were tattooed on her skin — The First Hunt, the Last Dance, the Spirit of Ice and Mist, the Moon Sweeping the Currents — mapping the history of the Water Tribes as much as they mapped the blood in her veins, pulsing and beating in time with her heart.)

“My little waterbender.” Her mother’s hands caress her face, anchoring her. She tilts Katara’s head upwards so that she can see the blue in her eyes, in their eyes. “Let me tell you about the ones who came before you…”

Her voice sweetens into a melody, into two melodies. Because on the other side of the world, the Fire Lady is singing to her six-year-old son.

(They both lost their mothers to the Fire Nation. They both lost the voice that lulled them into their dreams.)

Songs faded back into a forgone childhood; revived memories returned to their graves. Reeling from vanished joys and unhealed wounds, Katara barely noticed the wind breaking across her cheeks, the hurried gasps replacing her breath, the edge of her dress billowing along her racing legs. Already, all that she recovered was escaping her again, but this time she refused to let go. That world had long since shattered, but she still had fragments. She still had this.

“The emperor told her he would not surrender their love, not when he still had a chance…”

Catching onto the thread of a finished stanza, Katara tugged on it, willing it to guide her to the source. Around the bend, under the arch, she found them like this — legs drawn to their chest and heads tucked at their knees, Aang, Toph, and Zuko were squeezed inside one of the temple’s alcoves.

“Blinded by the light, the royal guards could only submit to the will of-”

The phrase ended, but it was not completed. Nonetheless, no one pointed out this gap in narration as they instead stared at each other, one standing over three.

They tautened. They waited.

Katara opened her mouth, grappling with what she should say and what she should feel, but before she could decide on anything Toph’s lips were pulling down, Aang’s shoulders were drooping, and Zuko’s eyes were falling away.

Zuko’s eyes were falling away, and a stolen moment surfaced in return — they were alone in that room, dust drifting to the ground when his hands had lifted themselves from her necklace, from her throat. And when he moved away, the distance between them shifting from too little to too much, she watched his back as he disappeared into another hall.

Katara was dragged — no, anchored — back into the present. With their wary gazes fixed on her, Toph and Aang never looked more resigned, bracing for the accusatory “what are you doing here?” or the even worse “what are you doing here _with Zuko_?”

 _With Zuko._ Since when was _with Zuko_ even possible?

Katara had been part of their family from the very beginning, so she knew every role and place within it. Or so she thought, until Zuko was fixing her necklace clasp, until he was washing the dishes, until he was folding their clothing, until he was filling the emptiness she never knew existed.

She should want him to be gone; she should not want him here at all. But for some reason, she needed him to not turn away from her again; she needed him to not leave her behind, alone.

“Aren’t you going to continue?”

Zuko’s head whipped towards her, eyes wide with surprise. Toph and Aang glanced up at her, also taken aback.

“What?” Zuko croaked out. But Katara was already lowering herself to the ground, pushing her way into the alcove’s already tight fit. Soon enough, she found herself pressed between Toph and Zuko in a tangle of limbs and uncomfortable angles, yet it couldn’t irritate her when their nearness echoed the polar nights her family spent together at the South Pole with a warmth she had lived too long without.

“You’re-” Katara started without thinking, turning towards Zuko. But he was much closer than anticipated, only a whisper away, and the sharp gold in his eyes shocked her back to awareness. Heat rising to her face, Katara wrenched her head back and forced her words down.

“You’re stalling,” she repeated what Toph said before for a lack of anything better to say.

“I-” Zuko spluttered indignantly. “What-”

“Sugar Queen’s right, you know.”

“You left on the guards being blinded by the light,” Aang added in what he believed to be a helpful manner.

“I knew that,” Zuko grumped. “I guess we’re continuing now. So, blinded by the light, the royal guards could only submit to the will of the moon…”

Once more, his cadence took on a storyteller’s inflection, vivid and elegant and moving. But while Toph and Aang were becoming more and more absorbed by Kaguya’s tragedy, Katara was captivated by the way he looked at Toph and Aang with such tenderness, with such softness. No liar could fake such sincerity.

The words Katara swallowed under Zuko’s gaze resurfaced, taking full form in her mind, tangible in its expression for the first time. Still, it didn’t feel new so much so as it used to feel abstract and unreachable — except now it was within her grasp, if only she was willing to admit it.

_You’re-_

_You’re part of the family now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading to the end of (i can't) surrender! I never thought this would be my first completed multichapter fanfiction (I never thought this would be turned into a multichapter fic at all-) but I'm pretty satisfied with the end result. Though I can't say I'm not open to continuing this, given enough inspiration and/or persuasion...
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated, and so is finding me on Tumblr @my-bated-breath if you ever want to talk to me there :)


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